


Family Matters

by FemailoftheSpecies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FemailoftheSpecies/pseuds/FemailoftheSpecies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Season 1 Buffy took something from Angelus…he is taking it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spike is Angelus’ childe not Drusilla’s. This is season two and that was the story back then.

He intends to kill something…destroy something beautiful and precious. Leaping up easily, he lands with a quiet thump on her balcony, the sound no more intrusive than the careful closing of a book. 

She is there, at her computer, no doubt researching for a way to get rid of him and his childer. He smiles, thinking of the all the mischief Drusilla and Spike got up to in his absence. Now that he is back to himself, uninfected, he can see them for what they are: his brilliant and deadly progeny. He has been a bit mean-spirited with Spike lately, but the anger at his bleached blond childe over the ritual to cure Dru and kill him is wearing thin and soon the two of them will be back to bickering, biting and bedding. 

It is their way. 

Willow leans back in her chair, the long red tresses swinging rhythmically. He stares for a moment, mesmerized, until they still. He wonders if they will retain that brilliance in darkness, or if it is a product of being kissed by the rays of the strong Californian sun. 

Truly, there is but one way to know for sure. Decision made, he knocks lightly, grinning with amusement as she twists around quickly toward the sound. There are only sheers on the French doors leading out and as she approaches she knows the looming figure she makes out through the thin fabric is not Buffy or even Xander. 

Her shaky hand is on the knob, ready to turn it, before she comes to her senses and freezes. 

“What's the matter, Willow? Not happy to see me?” 

His voice, although muffled slightly by wood and glass, raises the fine hairs on her arms. Instincts are on full alert and she realizes this is bad. 

“Angelus…” she pants as she takes a step back, wringing her hands together. There is a stake and a cross in her drawer, but she resists the urge to look over there. He is watching her too closely for that. 

“Aren't you going to invite me in?” She shakes her head, praying that the invitation to Angel that she so carelessly gave months ago does not extend to his soulless counterpart. She hears more than sees the useless lock break. He pushes and the door creaks open, but he does not cross over. 

Her mind is swirling with impulses. To run, to scream are the most dominant and the least useful, taking up the space that a good idea could occupy, if she were to get one. 

And he is smiling. She expects that is the most disconcerting part of this encounter, Angel smiling. Of course this is Angelus and she supposes that the vampire, without a soul to torture him, is basically a happy-go-lucky guy. Smiling might be an everyday occurrence for him. 

Her gasp is audible and the fear jumps exponentially as he crosses the threshold and enters her room, her home, her sanctuary. 

“I thought you had better manners, Willow? We really need to have a chat with you parents.” 

“No…” She says, retreating as she shakes her head in denial. 

His hands are in the pockets of his black trench coat and he has done nothing overtly threatening, yet she is in more danger now than she has ever been. No one is coming. She knows it. He knows it. So he is ever watchful. She is the smart one and he does not want her to think her way out of this situation. Given time he has no doubt that she could. 

“No what, sweet thing?” He is upon her now, and brings a large powerful hand up to caress her smooth pale skin. 

“Please…let me go.” 

“I'm sorry, Willow…I can't. You see, my insane girl, who is just bubbling with joy about this, tells me that you, with the help of the lovely Jenny Calandar, will try something stupid.” 

She has no idea what he knows. “I haven't done anything. We don't even speak to her.” 

He looks almost apologetic. ‘I know. But you will.” He circles her small form and breathes in her scent. He wants to remember it. It will change soon, not for better or worse, but different…eternally so. “It's unfortunate really, but inevitable.” 

“What is?” The longer she talks the longer she lives. It's her defense and the only one she has, so she does not let go of it. 

“I knew it that first night,” he says shaking his finger at her, as if he were chastising her. “In the school as you writhed against me…I knew it then. You were mine and I let Buffy distract me. I mean someone had to pay for Darla and who better than the bitch that the souled pussy killed my sire for.” He is off topic and reigns in his formidable anger. The job he must do does not allow for rage. He wants her competent and undamaged, a perfectly preserved beauty. 

“I don't understand.” But she is beginning to suspect and starts to cry. He allows it, wants her to enjoy it. 

He stops his circling and leans against a wall. “I've found a better way. It was all Spike's idea so you really must thank him later.” He must thank his William as well and decides to heal his boy tonight. It has been too long. 

Her eyes narrow as tears spill. Nothing about this conversation sounds good to her, like something she would be thankful about. 

“See Willow, she took something from me, from my family…and I'm taking it back. I could just kill you, but what a waste that would be. So you will join us. Be a part of my family.” 

He pushes off from the wall and takes her by the hand before she can run. She resists, and he laughs at the futility of it, before sinking his fangs into her. The taste is more alluring than he expected, hinting at magic, and he considers turning her now, but decides not to upset the plan and drains her only until she looses consciousness. He takes a look around the room and stuffs her book bag with a few things. She'll want something familiar in the beginning, before her demon strips away the lingering humanity. 

He slings the bag over his shoulder and picks her up, leaving the way he came. 

Spike and Drusilla are waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

Drusilla is dancing when Angelus enters the mansion, entertaining Spike as she gyrates her hips without thought. So fluid are her movements that they do not appear vulgar or improper, but more like a glimpse into the machinations of seduction. Spike pays special attention to his Princess. Feeling has been returning to his lower extremities and he will soon take her to his bed again. For now, he is happy with his progress. The watching is all part of the game. 

The blond tilts his head slightly upon hearing Angelus approaching from the garden, seemingly loaded down with a burden that is but a feather in weight to him. Spike smiles, but focuses on his dark princess as he speaks. 

“Successful, I see.” He feigns nonchalance. Becoming overtly intrigued in anything Angelus does is never beneficial if the older vampire knows of that interest. So Spike gazes at Dru, content in this deception, because it is also what he wants to do. 

“Of course…And it was so easy, almost too easy…like she wanted this to happen.” He sets the backpack on a table, glancing at Drusilla, who is lost in the fever of motion. Nothing either of them does could call her back to them, short of knocking her out. Each has done that before, but her resulting temper is not usually worth it. “Is the room ready?” 

Spike nods, keeping his eyes on the twirling brunette a few seconds more before finally gracing his sire with his reluctant attention. “Yeah, the one across from you, just like you said.” He turns back to Dru. His annoyance at being interrupted is thinly veiled and starting to give the older vampire pause. Spike should be interested in this. It is his plan. 

Angel carries her unconscious form up the stairs and to the room selected for her, draping her across the soft fabric of her comforter. He shackles a wrist to the headboard before covering her with a throw and leaving her alone. He does not bother checking the room for anything that she could use to get free. Spike is very adept in keeping captives. 

Descending the stairs, he catches a glimpse of Dru sinking to her knees between Spike's legs. It is an interesting development, considering how the blond has been distant toward her since his injuries. Angelus sits, halfway down the stair to enjoy the view. Spike is definitely recovering if his erection is anything by which to judge. 

 

\--------------------------

 

“You're getting better.” 

Spike stops his wheelchair and glances over his too-angular shoulder at his sire. 

“Yeah, what of it?” He has been in the chair for months and Angelus has done nothing to speed his healing. His interest in him now seems suspect. 

“Well,” he says as he saunters down the stairs and to the blond, “I planned to reward you tonight…for the idea.” Spike's eyes narrow. “About Willow.” 

Leaning back, Spike is suddenly interested, not trusting, but wondering what game this will turn out to be. 

“A reward,” he repeats flatly, not asking for an explanation, which he knows Angelus is waiting for him to do, and not expecting one. He could live another hundred years without knowing what his sire means, and intends to before giving into his own curiosity. 

But today is not a day of games for the older vampire. He has a goal. 

“Yes. Blood. Mine.” When Spike still does not seems impressed, he adds, “Now.” 

The bobbing of the prominent Adams Apple as his childe swallows reflexively is indication enough. Angelus chuckles and leans over, kissing his youngest deeply before extracting him from his former mode of transportation and carrying him upstairs. 

“My room.” 

Spike hears this and knows that several things are about to change for him over the next few hours. He won't ever again need that monstrous, wheeled reminder of his failures and yet he will not be the sole master of his destiny as well. Angelus will lay claim to his blood, body and demon once again and he will belong…to him. 

From memory he knows this is not such a bad position to be in, but he has his doubts all the same. They won't interfere with Angelus' intentions, nothing ever does, but he will hold on to them, just in case. 

He is laid out on the soft silks that cover the brunette's bed and has the unbidden urge to feel the material against his naked flesh. 

Angelus is watching him caress the linens as he disrobes and Spike glances up at him sheepishly. “Feels good….” the blond purrs. “You'll feel better.” 

 

\-----------------------------

 

Cotton mouth. She has heard of this and wonders if she has gotten high accidentally somehow. She opens her eyes and focuses on her surrounds, immediately remembering the events in her bedroom. 

And this is not it…her bedroom. 

Sitting up is awkward, not because she is uncoordinated, although there are days when she would do better to say in bed, but because she is shacked to the headboard by a wrist. 

“This is not of the good,” she whispers to herself as the throw cover slips down to her waist. 

The room is well appointed, but devoid of anything that makes it homey. On the bed table and within reach is a small plastic pitcher of water and a matching cup. She pours and drinks quickly, not understanding her thirst. Her mind is on other things. 

Angelus. 

He bit her. She remembers that clearly and her hand goes to her neck to feel the injured flesh. It is sore to the touch and she is certain she'll scar. But isn't that the point. They bite to feed and kill, of course, but to mark something as theirs as well. She is keenly displeased with the idea of belonging to Angelus. Nothing about this can be considered acceptable. 

She looks around the room for anything she can use to help her escape. Nothing is within her limited reach and even those out of reach only offer the escape of death; a shard of glass from the mirror to slice her own wrists. The concept is interesting, but too defeatist for her liking. 

She would rather survive. 

With nothing to do but think about what her fate may be, she decides on another form of escape and lays down to find sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

He is finally asleep. Angelus watches his youngest childe rest as he considers his plans. Very soon Spike will not be the youngest in his clan. Willow will fill that role nicely. A smile creeps over the vampire’s face as he imagines the arguments between these two.

Slowly, he extracts himself from the blond. Angelus does not want him to rise any time soon; he needs the sleep to complete his healing. When Spike awakens next, he will be walking on his own. It will be several days before he is ready to hunt alone, and perhaps a week after that to regain full, fighting strength. And the brunette cannot describe how delighted he is about this.

The soft knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts. He pads naked to the door, opening it quickly. He knows who is on the other side.

Drusilla looks up at him, wearing a tiny smile that he still cannot read, before letting her eyes fall to Spike.

“You’ve done it, then? Made him perfect again?” she asks. Her eyes are wide with wonder and delight.

“Yes, Dru,” he says patiently, kissing her on the forehead. “Your Prince is all better.”

Clapping her hands, she squeals quietly, pulling Angelus to her mouth for a real kiss, boldly exploring him. He can’t help the tightening in his balls. 

“Good Daddy,” she tells him after tearing away, her finger touching the tip of his nose affectionately. “Can I play with him now?” 

“No, not yet. He needs to sleep for a while. Let him rest till sunset.” He raises an eyebrow, ignoring her pouting. 

Her head tilts suddenly as her eyes gleam darkly. “Your new toy is awake, Angel. Can we play with her then? It’s very long until sunset and I may get into trouble on my own.”

Her meaning is clear to him. She is the rotten apple of his eye. “Let’s introduce you to her first.” 

Waiting by the door, she sings softly to herself while he dresses. But she is listening to the lone heartbeat in the house. Sometimes minions bring living dinner home, but today the only thing alive in the mansion is Willow. 

Angelus takes Drusilla’s hand and crosses the hall. He opens the door, amused as the small redhead scoots back until up against the headboard.

“Sleep well, Willow?”

She doesn’t answer him. Her eyes are darting between him and the raven beauty. Drusilla steps closer, unmindful of her fear.

“She’s perfect, my Angel. Just what I wanted.” And then she’s off spinning while Willow looks on, aghast. 

He chuckles when she stops suddenly, facing him, eyes wild. “Can we do it now?”

“Without Spike?”

She turns this over in her mind, thinking in triangles and jagged lines, but relents. “When he wakes, then?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Uh…not to be all Nosey-Nelly, but what are you planning on doing when Spike wakes up? Because letting me go would be a very nice thing to do…” 

Her curiosity overrides her fear for a moment, but it returns full force when eyes that shine too brightly and have no depth penetrate hers. “I mean nice in the really evil way, you know, like ohhh I’m a terrible vamp and I’m letting her go...like that.” She nibbles on her bottom lip, understanding that she has gone completely around the bend.

“Willow.” Once he is certain he has her attention, he continues. “Have you met Drusilla?” She shakes her head, perplexed. Their behavior is bizarre at best, menacing usually. 

The lithe demon places a knee on the bed as she reaches out with pale fingers to caress the frightened girl’s cheek. It is not soothing or comforting, but experimental. She wants to remember what she feels like before the turning.

Tears slip from huge green eyes in the silence. 

“Her tears are hot,” Drusilla observes. “They burn like the water the evil priest tossed at me and Spike in Copenhagen. Do you remember Copenhagen, Angel?” Her thoughts are wondering, but her hands keep to the mission, so Willow remains very still. 

Angelus is watching closely. His childe is unpredictable and could attempt to deliver a killing strike at any second. Her mind bends corners and sees what awaits.

“Yeah, Dru, I remember.” 

To Willow, he appears relaxed and pleased as he leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his impressive chest. 

“We found that dog there. And Spike carried it back to the townhouse. Darla was very cross and vowed to choke it, but Spike kept it with him always. You remember?” She leans over Willow, taking in scents and sounds. A whimper is her reward.

“Yeah…What about it?” He is up from the wall, a little more attentive and less amused.

“Spike took the puppy for walks and with him hunting. And he left me alone. I had to hunt with Grandmummy. She was in the mood for society virgins and those were very rare...”

“Dru,” he called to her, the barest hint of a growl in his voice. 

Dark hair swings around as she turns, shimmering in the light, and she looks at him lucidly. “He got busy with the puppy, so I killed it and fed it to the minions. You won’t get busy, will you, my Angel?”

Angelus smiles, shaking his head, as a rush of odd pride flows through him.


	4. Chapter 4

She has been dreaming. In it she has the vague impression that she is being rescued. Odd that she needs rescuing since she is sitting in class, but she goes with it, as she does most things in life. 

Her teacher asks a question and she is fumbling for the answer. She knows it, but for some reason she cannot get it out. A voice behind her, calm and melodic, provides the correct response, getting her off the hook for the moment, but she is called on again and again, and the answers continually elude her lips if not her mind. 

She never actually sees her scholarly savior; he is shrouded in shadows and just beyond the corner of her vision when she tries to look directly. It is exasperating and in a futile attempt to steal a decent glimpse, she snaps her head around quickly only to find herself face to face with... 

Drusilla lays very still, watching Angel’s pet sleep, humming to the beat of her heart, dancing without moving. Dark, enchanting eyes implore to be let into the human’s mind and in this unguarded state, Willow’s magick fails her.

Drusilla gets inside. It is right now that the vampire feels closer to the girl. She tours the young mind, snagging secrets with long fingers as she meanders through the garden of Willow’s subconscious.

The girl's eyes pop open suddenly as if she is dipped in ice, and she inhales deeply, skittering away from the vampire laying nearly nose to nose with her.

Drusilla smiles and sits up. “She’s awake, my Angel,” she calls over her shoulder, her hair bouncing gaily. “I’ve made a bouquet from your garden of desires, little Willow. Which shall we smell first?” 

Green eyes dart between the door and the vampire. She only knows the brunette as Spike’s crazy girlfriend that Angelus turned over 140 years ago. She knows the stories Buffy told her about Spike trading all the people in that cellar for her life and remembers that she tortured Angel before he lost his soul. So despite the helpless little girl act, Willow is most wary of the brunette that smiles too sweetly.

Seconds tick by and Angelus does not come. Instead, a bleached blond snakes around the corner and leans in the door frame, his bare, well-muscled arms crossed over his equally well-muscled chest. She is hit with a feeling of vertigo. That he is awake only means that the demons are that much closer to doing whatever it is they plan to do. 

“Angelus is out, Dru. Checking on what the good guys are up to, I’d wager,” he says as he steps inside the room. Drusilla makes space for him on the bed near her and he sits, bringing a hand up to push a stray lock of red hair back behind Willow’s ear. She leans away from his touch, refraining from smacking his hand.

“So this is Willow,” he says, his voice deep and nearly comforting...nearly. “I’ve seen you around, watched you, followed you.”

She shakes her head. “No...You can’t walk.”

“Yes, I can. Funny that. Sire’s blood is remarkable when a vamp needs healing. Nothing better, except maybe slayer’s blood,” he nods with a smile, and Willow doesn’t miss his meaning. “Couldn’t figure out why I didn’t want to kill you. But Dru here, she’s made it very clear. It wasn’t time, pet.”

In Willow’s mind, the situation is getting out of control. She refuses to accept that she has no control over her fate any longer, so she speaks as if she does, as if she won’t be dying soon.

“Okay, you two are creeping me out just a little more than what’s funny. Now I realized that you guys are angry at us... you know, about the Judge and all, and sorry about your present Drusilla, but he was burning people up... so not that nice. And it was Buffy’s rocket launcher. Really, I only picked up pieces. Icky blue chunks...”

“She’s adorable, Spike, don’t you think?” 

He smiles at the dark haired girl. “Positively, pet. It’s why I picked her.”

Willow’s eyes narrow, remembering Angelus laughingly suggesting that she thank Spike. 

“This was your idea?” she seethes. 

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. Dru here told us about what you would do. You and the gypsy. I just couldn’t see wasting your death.”

The door slams and they all turn to look toward the sound. 

Spike grins, showing too many teeth, and winks at her. “Daddy’s home.”


	5. Chapter 5

It’s dark when he comes inside, and though it poses no problem for him, he still turns on a lamp in the main room. The door slams shut behind him and resounds sharply in the silence. Most minions are still out or already asleep as dawn is only a few hours away. He makes his way through the mansion, following scents and sounds that he has known and missed for over a century. A torrent of unsatisfied fury hits him as he climbs the stairs. But for a stupid gypsy and her family’s curse he would never have been separated from his. 

And the vile clan of pagans is trying to do it again. 

He reaches the top stair and ambles to the place he has quickly come to call Willow’s. The vision inside the room makes him stop.

Spike is upright, on his knees, yet sloping over the curved line of Drusilla’s back as he thrusts inside her. She mewls beneath her prince while remaining perched over the human, her arms braced on either side of the Willow’s head. Tears fall from the green eyes as Drusilla plants delicate kisses on quivering lips.

They don’t acknowledge his presence, but Angelus understands that this is for his entertainment. 

“Pretty flowers...” The brunette says between kisses. “Just the petals now, pet. Soon we’ll find the roots.”

Angelus watches as the words seems to bring a flood of fresh tears from the human, and he wonders what Drusilla’s latched onto now. Whatever it is, she is hitting a nerve with the girl.

“I see you two couldn’t wait for me,” he scolds his childer while stepping closer. 

“Waited a century for you, Daddy. Time to catch up.” This is Drusilla’s way of telling him to fuck off.

He chuckles and gets down on his knees at the side of the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress. Willow turns to him, the plea in her eyes unmistakable, as if he will save her. 

With him near, she grows bolder. Angelus has a plan for her and will not allow them to hurt her, she hopes. Fueled by fear and anger, she pushes at Drusilla, her human hands and strength not enough to disturb the vampire who is luxuriating in the pleasures of Spike’s cock.

“Our kitten likes kittens,” Dru pants. “It’s all here,” she says, placing a kiss on the warm flesh over Willow’s heart. “Buried deep inside her garden.”

More tears spill as Willow squeezes her eyes shut. No one knows, she never talks about it, has never even had an exploratory conversation with Xander to feel out what he thinks of the subject. She is falling in love with Oz. She is not gay. Yet she finds herself staring too long at a few girls in her P.E. class and she cannot continue to ignore the tiny tingles this brings her.

That Drusilla knows this, is telling this to Spike and Angelus…she cringes as her former friend touches her face with cool, gentle hands.

“Why are you so upset, Willow? This is nothing. You belong to me now. I will have you in every way imaginable and some I’m sure you can’t. I will possess your every thought and dream…We will possess you. You are family.”

It is enough to make her fight and she lashes out at the two above her, violent cries pouring from her mouth. Her face is a mask of rage, marring her elfish features and turning her into something twisted and unbecoming.

Her determination, not her force, takes them by surprise and, intrigued, Spike and Drusilla give her the freedom she desperately seeks. Scrambling from the bed, she races for the door, but is blocked before she gets close by the blonde. 

“Not getting out, Red. Not alive,” he tells her, his eyes full of mirth and death.

“Fuck you, Spike! I don’t belong here. I’m not your stupid family. YOU KILL ME NOW OR LET ME GO!” She lunges for Spike and the door, but Drusilla steps between them and she freezes in her tracks. 

Spike grins over his princess’s shoulder and the redhead backs herself into a corner as Drusilla stalks her. “Pretty Willow, we’ll take your light and snuff it out soon enough, place a beautiful darkness there. Then you’ll be happy again. Then you’ll be perfect.”

“Let me go! Let me go! LET ME GO!” She screams and Angelus intervenes.

“All right, Spike, take Drusilla to your room. I’ll explain how things work around here to our newest.”

The blonde grabs his princess and pulls her to his body hard, taking her lips in a deep kiss before tearing away.

“Come on then, luv. Let Angelus train her properly,” he says, winking at Willow again.

As they leave the room, Drusilla glances back at the human. “I like the color red. It makes me hungry.” Her eyes flash golden yellow and then settle to a glossy hazel. “Daddy doesn’t like yelling, pet. What color will your pain be? ”


	6. Chapter 6

Fear is a heavenly scent. If Angelus was human, he thinks he may liken it to a sweet curry, distinct and rich and lingering. Right now the room is filled with it, the aroma everywhere he steps as he follows her. 

She is watching him, eyes wide as she backpedals away, hiding if she could, but as it is, she can only go from one indefensible corner to another. Now she stands trembling against the violet-colored wall, a fine sheen of perspiration coating her fair skin.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Willow, shall we?” He is upon her now, glaring down at her for all that he is still smiling and looking oddly paternal, falling into the role of sire with her naturally. “I won’t tolerate insolence.”

She stares at him and he rolls his eyes, relenting.

“Well, I do from Spike, but we have a different sort of relationship. But even he knows where the line is with me and won’t cross it.” Again, he sees his blue-eyed boy dangling a censer by its chain and desecrating, incensing the altar of that church in preparation of the healing ritual. This time the image does not bring him anger and resentment. After all, their sire had been lost to them, only his shell roaming the earth, bent on thwarting their every ambition. Instead, the memories of a passionate and blood-tinged reunion with his boy soothes his demon and he gets back to the matter at hand.

“The more you act like prey around Spike and Dru the more they will think of you as prey.” 

The shaking subsides slightly and he can tell she is considering this concept. “But … If,” and she finds this difficult to speak aloud because it seems like she is accepting this fate when she isn’t. “…if you’re going to turn me into a vampire, and I’m not saying I wanna be n evil thing so stop grinning …” she frowns and gets back to her train of thought. “… then I won’t be prey anyway, so what does it matter how scared I am of them now?”

Giles had told them all that demons--vampires--have no emotion, they only pretended to use the memories of the bodies they inhabited, but seeing them all, even for just this one long and frightening night, she has her doubts.

“Everything is fair game to us, even other vamps.” She is going to grasp these ideas soon enough so he doesn’t bother to continue. “But, let me be clear so we understand each other. I’ll beat you until your skin is shredded if you scream at me like that again, okay?” 

He is smiling and her tummy cramps up as she nods and wonders if she isn’t better off dealing with Spike and Drusilla. 

 

~~~*~~~

 

Xander splashes cold water on his face and lifts his shaggy head to peer in the mirror. He is late. His alarm clock never wakes him, but his morning phone call from Willow usually does. Only today, no call. And when he tries to call his best buddy there is no answer.

Her parents have gone to work, he is certain of that. They usually leave before the young hacker gets up so he isn’t overly concerned. But then he is. A strange feeling is creeping up around him, like thin fog, barely there and almost imperceptible, but disturbing him just the same. If he had to put a name to it, he couldn’t. He only feels restless and had a distinct desire to see Willow, lay eyes and flesh on her flesh to assure himself that she is fine.

Smearing the minty flavored gel over the tiny brush, he laughs at his mood, the sound loud and caustic as it bounces around the tiled room, and it does more to agitate him than calm. Resolutely, he cleans his teeth, letting that ritual take him from his abnormal thoughts and finishes his rushed morning processes. 

On his way out, he makes an impulsive decision to go by Willow's house just to check. On what, he doesn’t really know, and the vaporous feeling that something is not exactly right keeps him from caring that he will be even later to first period if he does. So he storms the pavement, and even in winter the strong, California sun cuts through the crisp morning air and beats on his back, warming him to his task.

When he arrives he tries the front door first. It is locked now, but not always known to be. He goes around back next and the door leading to the kitchen is unlocked. He sighs heavily, a little relieved because he hopes this means that she left this way and forgot to secure the house as she often did. This was Sunnydale, after all, and not much bad happened around here during the daylight hours. Still, he is not appeased, so he steps inside, treading carefully, silently, a contradiction to his next action.

“Hey! Willow, you here?” he yells, head tilted upward to help her hear him better, as if his bellowing is not enough to rattle the windows.

Apparently it isn't, because there is no response and he enters the family room and stands at the base of the stairs, looking up.

“Wills!” he hollers again, taking the first step up. Soon he is at the top and walks to her room, the way familiar. A blush bleeds to his face, warming his skin and making him feel prickly all over as he recalls the experimental kisses in this room, them both testing out their sexuality on each other, but not actually interested in each other that way. It had been so very clinical and scientific and unemotional, but now he thinks of it and knows that the blood rushing south has more to do with her than hormones. 

“Willow?” he calls again, not loud because he already knows, and waits a beat before pushing her door open. 

The room is empty of life. He frowns, not liking the way his mind phrased that, but it is a notion that can’t be un-thunk once thunk, so he lives with it and glances around.

After a quick inspection he notes that her bed is made and perfect, predictably, and her backpack is gone. These things should be the evidence that he needs to believe she has just gone to school very early and forgotten to wake him, but there is the matter of her U.S. History and Trigonometry books sitting on her desk. Those and the computer still on, screen saver blinking at him to “Save the Whales”, has him worrying even more.

Frustrated, he turns around slowly, looking for any clue, and notices that her French door is open, slightly cracked may be the exact description, but not closed and shut tightly. He doesn’t really know if this is odd or not, but it doesn’t relieve his blossoming anxiety. He walks over and pushes it open more, sticking his head out to peek around.

“Stop looking for badness, Xan Man,” he tells himself. Shrugging off the ill feelings, he grabs the knob and pulls the door shut. But it will not stay shut. It is gaped open so he pulls again and turns it, trying to make the latch catch, but it only goes in a circle, broken.

He stares for a second, letting the reality smack him in the forehead. “Shit!” Taking off, he dashes through the house and out to the sidewalk, heading for school and Willow's first period class.

 

~~~*~~~ 

 

Angelus finds his childer in the blond’s bed curled around each other like cats. Carefully, he places a hand on Spike’s shoulder and shakes gently, but firmly.

“Wakey, wakey,” he sings quietly, amused as bleary blue eyes glare up at him. Not sleepy enough to forget to be petulant, that is his boy. 

“What do you want, Angelus?” Spike still needs to heal, the fucking he gave Dru and the burst of energy used to keep his sire’s pet project from escaping, has taken their toll and the vampire feels tired. He is grateful to feel anything at all, but not right now. The sun is high in the sky and Angelus has no sense of decency.

Tugging on his shoulder, Angelus smirks. “As unappreciative as ever, I see.” 

Spike sighs and untangles his limbs from Drusilla's pale thinner ones. It is obvious to the younger demon that his sire doesn’t want their Princess to wake up for whatever reason, and since they are on good terms, for now, Spike plays nice. 

Besides, he is curious about the little spitfire Daddy brought to the fold. He doesn’t smell blood and pain lingering on the brunette’s skin and wonders why. The girl had been asking for the beating of a lifetime, one that would ends hers most likely. That Angelus let her off easy is intriguing.

“Why didn’t you hurt her?” he asks as they leave the bedroom together, Spike on his own two feet, which is still amazing to him. 

Knowing that Spike will sense a lie, Angelus opts for the truth. He wants to fuck this one today, not play those old games where each of them is struggling for power.

“I don’t want that skin scarred,” he admits. It is the artist in him that keeps the demon in check today. “She’ll be a fresh canvass every day.” 

Spike nods. “Until you grow bored.” They had all been a work of art for Angelus in the beginning. His sire had been captivated by the contrast of the deep red rivulets of blood and William’s alabaster skin. Spike remembers days of being cut open and left to bleed while the other vampire sketched, trying to capture the essence of his beautiful suffering.

Fun times.

Sensing a mood, Angelus tosses his arm over the blond's shoulder and draws him close, smelling Drusilla’s cunt all over him. “Near a hundred and twenty years and still not bored with you, Willy.”

Spike grins in spite of himself. “Yeah, well, you were off brooding for a century or so. I’m sure all this is just a case of absence making the bloody heart grow fonder or some other rubbish.”

If Angelus had a heart, he thinks it might have been hurt by that, but he doesn’t and it’s not, so he leaves Spike to his delusions, knowing that the poet never really died in this one. A change of subject is needed before they reveal too much, so he gets to something more pressing than how they _feel_.

“We’ll kill her tonight.”

Narrowed eyes regard him, and Angelus glimpses that raw, determined power in his boy. It takes a bit of willpower not to look away from that gaze but he stands his ground, refusing to let his childe run the show. It is then that it hits Angelus, the notion that Spike is concerned. He has been the youngest for so long that this may be a bit daunting for the vampire. Angelus grins.

“Are you jealous?”

Spike frowns. “What? No,” he blurts out quickly, then hesitates. “Why, should I be?” he asks, following his sire into his rooms.

Shrugging, Angelus thinks of all the delightful ways he can torture his boy and pushes him down on the large bed. Crescent-shaped eyes, blue like sapphires and glistening with emotion, stare up at him and he just cannot do it. Blaming the soul remnants that must still be lingering around his demon, Angelus crawls over Spike, covering him completely, protectively, possessively, and kisses him slowly, more intimately than Spike can ever remember. When he pulls away, he cards his fingers through the whitish locks and tugs, forcing Spike to his liking as he tells him…

“You … are mine. She will be ours. Remember that.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you mean Willow's missing?” 

Giles stands up from the desk in his small office and moves in Xander’s direction, stopping just inside of the doorway. The young man looks panicked and there is none of the jovial verbal sparing that usually annoys the watcher. 

“She’s not in class,” he explains, out of breath. He bends over and places his hands on his knees, bracing his weight as he takes in gulps of air. After barging into Willow's Latin class, he did a fair bit of running around the school to avoid Principal Snyder and his appointed lackeys. On top of the race from Willow's house, the boy is exhausted. It is more that his heart is frantically beating in fear for his friend than the actual physical exertion. He is young and fit.

Turning to set down his reading, the Brit shakes his head. “Perhaps she is home ill. Use the phone …”

“No,” Xander replies, shaking his head as well while standing upright. “See, she would have called me. She always calls me to wake me up because I never hear the alarm clock and my parents never think to get me up and she didn’t so I went there, to her house … before I came here. She’s gone, her backpack is gone, but her books are there and she never forgets her books, but I checked her class anyway and she hasn’t shown up and the door, to her balcony, was open … well broken. The lock, I mean.”

Giles is staring, trying to filter nonsense from valuable information. “Xander, just slow down and tell…”

“No! Something’s happened to her. I know it.” He returns Giles’ look, gaze steady and strong. “I know it.”

It only takes him a few seconds to realize that Xander is right. Not that Giles has evidence, but the boy’s unfaltering conviction is catching, and the watcher feels icy dread slipping down his spine, suddenly and certainly. 

He nods. “I’ll get Buffy out of class.”

 

~~~*~~~

 

William had been a troublesome fledging, always getting into scraps with humans and other vampires. Adjusting to his power, Darla had called it when beating him senseless for one infraction or another, but amazingly that only steeled his will to continue with his antics. 

Eventually Angelus took to making him sleep between his two elders, certain that this would keep him from rising early and slipping out, his young demon starving for blood and violence. It did not.

And now Spike wiggles out of his sire’s oppressive embrace as sneakily as he had done over a century ago.

He climbs from the bed slowly, not wanting the soft undulations of the mattress to wake the sleeping demon, and then pads silently, nakedly, from Angelus’ chamber.

It is still daylight out, early afternoon by his internal clock, as he stands in the upper hallway, stretching out the pleasant aches from his sire’s attention, listening to the sounds of the day. Birds chirp and in the distance, kids at a primary school are playing, probably at their lunchtime recess, tiny screeches tempting him to give chase.

Of course sunlight is a huge deterrent so the young are safe from him for the time being. He smiles as he considers catching one for Willow to eat.

Willow. 

This is her last day alive and he wonders just what she is doing with it. Is she standing at the window watching the warm yellow ball travel across the sky, tracking its repetitive journey, committing it to memory? Or is she sulking, waiting, hoping and praying for a rescue effort by her friends who may only now be aware that she is missing.

He had wasted his last day, pining for a woman who had no idea what love was about, and being humiliated by people that he had tried so desperately to please. 

Spike is only too happy about his state of being now as he considers the decayed bodies and bones of those he had known in life. Making a decision, he opens her door.

Fear slaps his senses as she scoots back against the headboard, chained once again. 

“Where’s Angel?” Her eyes dart around him, searching for his sire. It’s funny to Spike, since very soon, Angelus will be her protector and so much more. As will they all.

“Sleeping,” he tells her and closes the door behind him. The room is dark except for a few stray slats of sunshine filtering though tiny gaps in the draperies. He doesn’t bother to avoid them, it takes a while for him to burn anyway.

“Um, that thing, that you guys think you’re gonna do? Well don’t. Okay?” her brows are raised and her eyes expressive, imploring him to let her go. He’s seen this look thousands of times before, has played the would be rescuer to Angelus’ villain, and is tempted to do it today, give her false hope only to watch her crumble in misery and despair once she learns the truth. 

Yet he doesn’t. His demon is appalled and whispers inside, filling his head with all the lovely games he should be playing with this one. She is not one of them yet and can be treated any way Spike sees fit. Right now, the remnant of the man he once was has something else in mind.

“We’re going kill you. As soon as the sun sets, Angelus and Dru will be along and you are going to die and be turned.”

Her lips press together tightly as she tries to hold back the tears. He sees her swallow the pain of knowing, the last of her hope, and then her chin juts out, a defiance that he knows all too well seeping into her core. “I’ll kill myself.”

That makes him laugh and she glares at him. “If it was that easy, I’m sure my Princess would not be here today.” Shaking his head, he walks over to her and she is just now aware that he is nude. She turns away, averting her eyes.

“Don’t … please,” she whimpers and Spike understands that she has the wrong idea. Something in him wants to let her keep the begging up for a while, but again that lingering humanity that Angelus never beat out of him has him doing the poncy thing. 

“No worries, luv. Your virtue is safe with me. Angelus will have that privilege. Besides, you’ll die a virgin so he can make you bleed for an eternity.”

It is supposed to be reassuring, but now the girl is actually crying and Spike stares, stunned while the door opens behind him.

“What did you do to her?” Angelus asks, stepping up to press against Spike’s backside. He runs his hand along the slender hip, amused when Willow's crying slows because she is staring at them now wide-eyed and terrified.

“Nothing. Just wanted to get the silly bint to take a look outside. It’s her last chance to see the sun and all.”

Angelus isn’t surprised. It is just like his beautiful little poet to think this way. “I guess she should then.” He turns his attention to Willow, but keeps his hands on his childe, stroking him to hardness. “Better listen to him, Willow. Get that last look at the day, savor it, remember it. Pretty soon, I’ll be all the sunshine you’ll ever need.” 

 

~~~*~~~

 

Buffy saunters into the library a little after two, just returning to school from a fieldtrip with her Spanish class. Giles is nowhere to be seen, not in his office, and not in the reading area, so she checks the stacks.

“Giles? I’m back. What’s the emergency?”

No answer. She unballs the pink hall pass telling her to report to the library, that it is urgent, and reads it again.

_Please see Mr. Giles immediately about a seriously overdue book. It is missing and he will be searching for it until it is found._

She scowls, thinking that Giles is becoming as cryptic as Angel. Her scowl deepens, showing the precursor of lines that will eventually mar her youthful skin as she ages, if she ages. Angel isn’t Angel anymore, that’s what Ms. Calendar had said, and Buffy is angry all over again at the lying techno-pagan. 

The office is unlocked and Buffy enters and looks around. She doesn’t know what she is seeking but that doesn’t stop her from making a mess of his desk and papers. A few minutes pass this way before she becomes frustrated and marches out of the office and library and toward the cafeteria where she uses the payphone to page her watcher.

~~~*~~~

In the bright afternoon sunshine, Sunnydale is like any other Southern California town. Small children are playing in the park, running and climbing and screaming for their mothers to watch them do something so utterly mundane that only a mother can appreciate it. The shopkeepers sell their wares, making new acquaintances as the young college crowd does it shopping. Old folks are strolling along with nothing to do but enjoy the farce that this is a peaceful, safe place. All this occurs while two frantic males search for one small red-haired girl, the world oblivious to their worry.

“This is getting us nowhere.” Giles removes his glasses and wipes at his brow with the back of his hand. It is January and although the nights can be bitterly cold in contrast, it is a comfortable 75 degrees out and his tweedish ways are currently in question.

Xander seems cooler, dressed in a wildly-printed, oversized button-down shirt and jeans. He doesn’t know where to look, they’ve tried all of the places that he and Willow have hung out at and it is apparent that she doesn’t want to be found or has been taken and can’t be found.

The latter causes the youth next to Giles to shudder and they look at each other because they are both thinking the same thing.

Angelus.

Giles jumps, startled, and lets out a tiny yelp while reaching in his pocket. He hand comes out holding a pager and for a few seconds Xander has a quip, but Willow presses on his mind again and he waits, hoping.

“It’s Buffy. Well, her code, although I don’t know this number. She’s probably back from the fieldtrip and got my note.” He is walking again, looking around until he finds a phone booth across the street. Giles drops some coins in it and dials the number, smiling wryly when he hears her voice.

“Buffy, it’s Giles.”

“What’s up? You leave me this mysterious message to come to the library and then you make with the invisible man routine…”

“Buffy, please. Willow's missing.”

There is silence on the other end for a few seconds and Giles is about to ask if she heard him when the slayer speaks. “Angelus?”

“We don’t know. Maybe.”

“We?”

“Oh, Xander’s with me. He … he was worried.”

She nods. “How long? When was the last time you guys talked to her or saw her?”

Giles shakes his head slightly. “Yesterday after research. She left with you and Xander. Just a moment …” Handing the phone to Xander he explains, “when was the last time you spoke to Willow?”

Xander presses the phone to his ear. “Hey, Buffy. We gotta find her.”

“I know,” she replies, her voice tight and controlled. “We will.”

"We looked everywhere. I even went to her house this morning. Her bed was made, backpack gone, but her French doors were open, the lock is broke.”

This is something, something she can work with, something physical. “I’ll go check it out. When do her parents get home?”

Xander glances up in thought. “Uuuh…It’s Thursday so they get home early, maybe 4 o’clock, but then they leave around 6 and meet friends for dinner.”

“Okay, I'll see what I can find before they get home, and then meet you guys at the library at 5.”


	8. Chapter 8

It takes a few minutes for the shaking to subside and she isn’t quite sure if they are lurking just outside the door, waiting for her to relax, so she doesn’t move. But her gaze is not on the door. Instead she is staring at the window.

On the other side of that glass is life, freedom, happiness … all out of her caged reach. Spike’s words haunt her. What if this really is her last day alive and able to feel the warmth of the sun? She still holds onto the belief that Buffy will come for her, tear her from Angelus’ demonic clutches and leave dust in her wake. She is an optimist.

But Spike has apparently been in her shoes and thinks it is important that she remember what the sun looks like, feels like, smells like as it kisses everything on this earth without discrimination or reservation - everything but a vampire.

She scoots to the left side of the bed, telling the voice in her head that is calling her a defeatist to shut the heck up, and reaches for the heavy curtain. The sun is still higher than her vision can see, but it will fall, and quickly, once it starts its downward trek. Below is a garden, overgrown and in need of care. The leaves of the various trees and plants are bright green, which is normal in California for winter. The summers tend to leave the state golden, hence its nickname, but in winter the temperate climate keeps everything green and lush. She thinks on what this may look like at night and understands. Nothing will be bright and blazing and beautiful again, not if these vampires have their way. 

A whimper rises in her throat and she wonders if she could ever find it in her to just jump, leap to her freedom. Rising to her knees, Willow shifts closer to the window, but can barely get her feet on the floor and stand on that side of the bed. Stretching her arm lets her manipulate the draperies so she can see out, but jumping to freedom or her death is not an option. Neither is breaking the glass. It’s set too far back, the wall there cut extending out to allow for the small cushioned bench that is right in front of it. Spike prepared the room and had been thorough. She sighs and peeks outside again, taking the blond vampire’s advice just in case.

She is also going to kick his ass if Angelus does turn her since it is all his idea.

~~~*~~~

 

Buffy does not waste time while at Willow's house. She has a theory about something and goes straight to her friend’s room to prove it right or wrong.

Wrong means that maybe a burglar has been fooling around, which is not good, but right means that …well she doesn’t like to think about that so she walks in and again gets that sensation of being assaulted by just a little more pink than is healthy. The door to the balcony is still partly open and Buffy bends down to see it better. Turning it, the knob spins uselessly, not the work of a good burglar. Most want to be able to come back so they try to leave as little evidence as possible, hoping that the items stolen aren’t missed for a while and no security improvements are made. 

What she does notice is that the knob is dented, like a large, powerful hand grabbed it and tightened, making the steel give way. 

It is not overwhelming evidence, but she is more confident in her belief that Angelus or his demented little family is somehow behind Willow's disappearance. The problem is she has no idea where Angelus is holding up. The factory is deserted, has been since they discovered that he had lost his soul, and not one demon is talking. Apparently, they fear Angelus more than they fear the slayer. She is shocked, and a little impressed, that he has that much influence.

Rolling her eyes, she bounds down the stairs and out the back door, hearing the garage door open on her way to the front yard and the sidewalk. Pressed against the side of the house, she waits for them to go inside before stepping up the walk and ringing the doorbell. A disheveled looking Sheila Rosenberg answers, smiling tightly.

“Hello … Bunny right?” she asks and before Buffy can correct her she calls over her shoulder. “Ira, get Willow, please.” Facing the blonde again she speaks, her voice clipped and impatient. “I’m sure she’ll be down in a second.” And then she turns to walk away, dismissing Buffy completely.

“Uh, Mrs. Rosenberg, Willow was with you today?” She is hopeful that her friend just arrived home with her parents and that they all have been fretting for nothing.

The woman stops to look at her and frowns. “No, Willow was in school, Bunny. You really shouldn’t cut class or you’d know that.” In Sheila’s opinion, Bunny Summers is not good friend material. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Willow is busy.”

The door slams in a stunned slayer's face and she just stands there for a moment before stomping away mumbling. “Something is seriously wrong with her parents.”

 

~~~*~~~

Drusilla climbs out of bed and stretches her long limbs. She is fully awake, anticipation of the upcoming activities making her dark eyes gleam. It has also gotten her up a full hour earlier than sunset so she glances over to her dolls, seeking advice on how to spend her free time.

True to form, Miss Edith is always talking, full of suggestions and knowledge, but it is Miss Claire that Drusilla listens to today. 

“My dear Miss Claire, it’s been ages since you've spoken.”

The doll sits on the settee with the others, blindfolded and gagged. Drusilla removes the bindings and brings the doll to her dressing table, setting her on the flat wooden surface, and then sitting herself down in front of the mirror.

“Angelus says we can make a baby tonight. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Miss Claire stares just beyond the vampire’s left shoulder, but Drusilla hears and sees something else.

“I’m sure she’ll want to play with you and the others. We’ll all play very soon.”

Drusilla is listening while brushing her hair, long strokes through thick brown locks, shinier than they have any right to be. 

“Bury her in the garden?” She stops brushing and glances at the doll, her lips curving up in a small smile. “Do you really thing we should?”

Evidently, the doll was certain, because Drusilla rises and heads for the closet, laughing and spinning her way around the room, the thin white fabric of her nightgown flowing gracefully behind her. “I know just the dress.”

Minutes later she is barging into Angelus’ room and bouncing on top of him and Spike, unconcerned about her feet landing on them instead of the mattress. 

“Get up, get up! Time for making babies!” she tells them. The groggy blond tries to stop her and grunts as she kicks him in the chest. Angelus is more successful when he reaches up and snatches her by the waist and pulls her to him. She lands on them both, sprawled out on her belly and laughing.

“Someone’s excited.” Spike states the obvious while rubbing the blossoming bruise. It will be foot-shaped, but gone before the night is over.

Angelus knows how to calm her quickly. Urging her to sit up, he pushes her gown up to her waist. Eyeing the naked flesh underneath, he lifts her hips and slides his hard cock into her cunt. She is ready for him always and starts to ride him instantly, instinctively.

Spike gets to his knees and shifts until he is behind her. He halts her movements and forces her over onto Angelus so that her bottom is open to him. Deciding he’s been gentle enough for one day, giving advice to soon-to-be-dead little girls and all, he pushes into Drusilla’s tight anus, tearing the tender walls inside. She screams, trembling from the sweet aching, and Angelus pulls her mouth to his, swallowing her cries greedily.

And she thinks it’s a lovely way to start the night.

 

~~~*~~~

 

It is a full on Scooby emergency meeting except for one missing hacker. Giles, Buffy and Xander are there as well as Cordelia and Oz, all bent on finding their friend.

Oz is making use of the computer, trying to see if any property has been rented or sold in the last month.

“This is what I don’t get,” Cordelia starts, slumping lazily in a chair . “I mean, he’s got these minions and they aren’t talking, like they’d rather be staked than betray Angelus which is dumb. And then we’re looking for him to be _buying_ real estate, like legally, when he is 250 years old and - Hello - no driver’s license so no bank account. There’s no way you’re gonna sniff him out like that.” She cares about Willow, not in the I-wanna-hangout-and-shop way, but because she is nice and doesn’t deserve whatever Angelus might be doing, and she thinks that looking for recent sales is a waste of time.

The werewolf glances up from the monitor. “Hey, guys?”

They stop to look at him and he feels strange being the center of their attention. On stage is one thing…

“What if we could sniff him out another way. Like literally?”

 

~~~*~~~

 

Willow jolts awake, sure that she heard a scream, yet there is nothing but silence now so she slowly beings to relax.

Bored, she gazes outside again, watching the passing of the day, and then dozes off again. This time when she opens her eyes she is unsure of how much time has passed, but now the sun is low in the sky, an orange light, dim and no longer very warm, and all that is left of the day. Sighing, she sinks back against the headboard, wondering what Xander and Buffy are doing, if they are even looking for her. 

She wants them to be, with all her heart she is wishing for them to barge into the house and steal her away from this fate, but it has been less than 24 hours. And her parents aren’t going to miss her and start asking around so she is given less and less energy to that sort of hope. There is this turning thing to think about as well. 

What does it entail? Will it hurt? Can she somehow fake it and then never be turned at all? She doesn’t want to be evil or hurt her friends and she knows that is exactly what Angelus will have her do. 

The door to her room cracks open and Drusilla peeks around it, smiling deviously. 

“Hello pretty. Daddy says I’m to get you ready. All dressed for the dying.” Drusilla is ecstatic, bouncing on her toes as she comes in. There is nowhere for Willow to go, but she still presses back into the headboard, wanting to disappear.

Sensing her dread, Drusilla’s nostrils flare and she glares at the girl. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Willow frowns.

“The way you smell,” her eyes drift shut as she speaks. “I might eat you all up before we can turn you.” Opening them, she eyes Willow playfully. “But you’d like that. Ready to toss yourself into the fire instead of becoming.”

“I don’t want to _become_ a vampire. Can’t you understand that? Spike said you didn’t want it either, so why not let me go?”

“Doesn’t matter what I wanted then, pet. It’s belonging, now and forever, that matter.”

“But I don’t belong. I mean, I’m just a little girl and I’ve never done so many things and I don’t wanna die.” She starts to cry again and Drusilla lays the dress across the end of the bed, creeping closer to the salty scent of her tears. She takes her by the chin and forces her to look up at her and it strikes Willow just how tall Drusilla really is. 

“When you rise you’ll feel the most delicious things inside and Angelus will come and fill you up with his love and his power and his hatred and Spike and I will surround you with passion and desire so blinding that your soft white thighs will be sticky from it and when _Himself_ fucks you, the Prince and Princess will hold you down and laugh while you scream and you will like it … because you will be free.”

She lets Willow go as a tear slides down her cheek to her trembling lips.

“Let’s get you ready, shall we?”

 

~~~*~~~

 

Oz holds Willow's pink sweatshirt, clenching and unclenching his hands around it. They had gone to her house after her parents left and he doesn’t have to go out on the balcony to know. He smells Angelus from the yard. But he follows them up anyway and does the official sniffing to make them all feel better. Or worse.

“He was here, out on the balcony, inside. All over really.”

No one wants to verbalize what that may imply so they wisely keep quiet.

“Can you tell which way he went? And if he had Willow with him?” Giles asks.

Oz nods. “He left this way.” He points out over the banister. “Smells like she went this way too, but it’s hard to tell. I can pick up her scent in the trellis too, like she left this way sometimes.”

“Yeah, when there was some late night demon killing to do, I’d wait for her while she climbed down,” Xander explains and glances down when Oz won’t look away.

Buffy taps a stake in the palm of her hand, itching to kill something for this. “Well, let’s just follow his trail. He took her, I know it.”

There’s no argument about this so they leave on foot while Cordelia follows slowly in her car in case they find Willow and need a fast getaway.


	9. Chapter 9

It isn’t the type of place she thought Angelus would like. From Buffy’s description of the factory, she expects something more macabre. The walls are made of stone, reasonable for creatures so highly flammable, but otherwise it just looks slightly Spartan yet decently rich. She really shouldn’t be surprised that Angelus is well-off. He’s been around for two centuries, one must amass some sort of fortune in all that time. 

Her musings have slowed her and Drusilla jerks on her arm as they start down the stairs, the sharp pain a reminder of who she is with and where she is going. 

As soon as Willow lays eyes on Angelus and Spike whispering to each other by the fire under the huge hearth, a switch inside her turns on and she panics. “No.” Shaking her head, she digs her heels in and tries to scramble and twist away.

“No …” she groans again and the dark-haired vampire whirls around on her, eyes blazing gold, swirling and freaky enough to make her be still. 

“Time for no is passed, little girl.” Yanking hard, Willow screams as she feels her arm straining under pressure and stumbles forward. Drusilla catches her and gives her most innocent grin, the one she saves for Angelus when he is in the mood for deflowering. “Don’t soil your pretty dress. Daddy’s funny about that sort of thing.”

Willow's stomach rolls and burns when Dru says Daddy. Something about it makes her feel sickened and dirty and warm.

Dealing with Drusilla is like talking to a mailbox so she looks to the source of all her anguish. “Angel, y-you don’t w-wanna do this. Not really. Buffy’ll kill you all.” She is still pulling away, not actively trying to get away anymore, because she knows better, but that need for fight or flight won’t stop nudging at her subconscious so she’s wiggly.

Angelus reaches for her other hand and relieves his childe of her charge, squeezing tightly until Willow stills her movements. “I suppose she might try. But she has to find us first, Willow. Don’t you think if she could she would have by now?”

Drusilla leans in, whispering, but not really, in her sire’s ear, her voice girlish and sweet. “She’s coming, my Angel, with stakes and whistles, I can hear her now.”

The growling is something Willow doesn’t think she’ll ever grow used to. By definition, it should sound like dog, menacing yes, but still within the realm of the possible. But this, deep, rolling sound, geminate in nature, grates on her nerves and when Angelus does it, she feels a little bit of her sanity slip away.

“Dru?” he breathes her name, huffing up great mouthfuls of air, obviously irritated, and shoves Willow into Spike’s arms. “How close is she now?” he inquires, keeping his tone light. If he upsets his insane girl, she’ll slam the door on her visions and only Spike can get her to come around. Angelus doesn’t want to waste what time he has. He intends to drain this girl and bring her over tonight.

Lithe and liquid, she sways with the torrential winds of her mind, her eyes obsidian as she stares into a whirlwind nothing and everything. “Hmmm, not too far, but not knowing as well. They hunt for _her_ , the dog is baying, leading the way, wanting his bitch. Soon, but never.”

It’s a riddle, or a metaphor or maybe an analogy, but Willow is good at solving puzzles.

_Oz_

Her heart does a dance in her chest, leaping with something other than fear and despair. Suppressing the urge to grin, she tries to remain very still, hoping that they don’t understand what she does.

But Spike’s senses pick up on the shift in her heartbeat and her changing emotions. He smells hope. Calculating blue eyes have captured hers and she knows that Spike knows, maybe not what, but that she gets it. He pushes her to the wall, her head crackling sickly when it hits.

“Stop, Spike, please…” she cries around the pain.

“What do you know?” he demands and slams her to the wall again, holding her by her neck now.

Angelus places a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa there, cowboy. No need to ride her hard … yet.”

Craning his neck to glare at his sire, he raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

He smiles at the blond and musses up his hair, then calls two minions over. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

 

~~~*~~~

When Oz was little, he liked to listen to his dad tell stories about the Wild West. Of course his dad had only been an engineer, but he was a history buff and had a kink for American History, especially the Manifest Destiny. So little Daniel Osborne would sit around for hours, eager to hear about how the Sioux had conquered this native nation or how the U.S. Army poisoned whole tribes with blankets infested with smallbox. 

Those stories, where the Indians lost, bothered him and he used to imagine himself to be Native American, wanting to identify with their plight. So he joined the Boy Scouts and took a special interest in anything related to tracking. He excelled at it, earning more badges than he could recall.

Thinking back, he now wonders if all that was to prepare him for this day, when his senses, fining honed, and his not so ordinary skills at tracking are needed to save a girl that he has taken a seriously liking to. 

It is a frightening notion, that the fates are spinning their webs of destiny, conspiring and planning things so intricately as for everyone to think that they have free will when nothing, _nothing_ , is by chance. 

“Over here,” he says, focusing on his task. The scent has faded so that he only catches a whiff where the vampire brushed a tree or stood still for more than a few seconds. Sometimes, like now, there is a footprint carrying the redolence of the demon and Willow's fragrance is with Angelus’, reminding him constantly of what is at stake. It keeps him going. He will find her.

The others join him and he stands, nostrils flaring as he arches his back and stretches while attempting to determine which way they have gone from here. A few molecules dance on his olfactory nerves, feeling like her so he tells them to go east. This has them exiting the park and stepping out onto a busy boulevard. 

The streetlights are on and it is completely dark. None of them know what is happening, what Angelus is planning, but there is a terrible sense of foreboding and they all feel it in their bones – after tonight everything will be different.

If they don’t find her and maybe if they do.

Oz walks with greater purpose, not waiting to see if they follow, because he knows they will. A glance down the street reveals Cordelia’s presence as well, as she creeps along slowly.

~~~*~~~

A few candles in wrought-iron sconces line the walls of the main room, lighting it warmly. Willow is laid out on a wooden table that would be for dining if they did such things. She finds it silly that they have these sort of things, that they even try to pretend when they are so far out there from normal. She wants to cry.

Drusilla’s ramblings are not lost on Angelus. He remembers the wolf, knows what he can do, even when the moon is only a sliver in the darkly jeweled sky, and he is stepping up the pace. 

Small hands flex and squirm as she pulls at the restraints. It’s no ordinary dining table and she wonders if they had to order it special or did one of them make the modifications personally. 

“We should do the ritual.” Angelus is looking at Spike for confirmation, but the blond doesn’t agree.

“Sod the bloody ritual. That murderous little bint that _you’ve_ been making a point to annoy is out there looking to spoil Dru’s party. Let’s turn her now.”

Slithering up next to her Prince, Drusilla nods her agreement. “It’s time, Angel. The stars are aligned.”

“What’s the ritual? Maybe you have to do the ritual,” Willow chimes in, leaning up as far as she is able, to see what they are doing. The ritual means stalling and stalling means giving Oz time to find her.

Smirking, Angelus leans over Willow and kisses her lips. “As much as I hate to admit it, killjoy over there is probably right.”

Her eyes widen as he rears back, face changing before her eyes, and strikes. Fangs slash into her neck and she screams, convulsing with pain on the table, words gurgling in her mouth along with a little blood. Two more searing points of pain take some of the focus off of the one Angelus has created; Spike and Drusilla, one pulling blood from her wrist, the other from her thigh. Her blood pulses behind eyes that are closed tight as she fights the agony of her veins collapsing on themselves, touching nerves not meant to be touched, and she is aware of his weight on her, crushing her, pushing air out of her tiny body, taking everything from her that he can as her heartbeat becomes erratic and quick, a last ditch effort to live, before slowing down terribly, miserably, disappointingly. 

The last thing she hears is a door opening in the distance.

 

~~~*~~~

The trail is getting easier to follow. That should please Oz. Instead, his face is set in a grim mask, because he knows why.

Her blood is strong, recently spilled, fresh in the air, as well as Angelus’. It’s a bad sign all around, but he doesn’t tell them. He just forges on, gaining speed every second, only to stop short when they come to a large house on a hill.

Buffy is next to him and Giles joins them, carrying half the weapons in a duffle. Xander has the other half and sets them on the gravel by his feet.

“Is this it?” Buffy asks.

Nodding his head, Oz stares at the slayer. “There’s blood, Buffy. We’d better hurry.”

They load up on stakes, crossbows and swords for Buffy and Giles and Cordelia pulls up. Giles leans into her window. “Stay here and keep the motor running and your doors locked. If anything shows up other than us, leave. We’ll find a way back. Do you understand?”

She gives him a look that says “Duh” and rolls up her window, forcing him to move out of the way. Xander taps on the passenger door and she unlocks it. He opens it long enough to toss in the bags with the remaining arsenal. “Be careful,” she tells him and he smiles goofily, suddenly a little more ready to do battle with the evil undead. He may even get some nooky out of it.

“Let’s do this,” Buffy says and charges the house, kicking open the front door. Giles is right behind her with Oz and Xander taking up the rear. The room is a normal living room except for the blood. Oz taps Xander on the thigh and he follows the guitarist's stunned gaze. 

“Oh God,” the brunette moans. Buffy and Giles look up as well.

There, written on the wall, is a message.

_Sorry for the subterfuge, Buffy. But I have plans and you and your precious Scoobies have a nasty way of upsetting them. So I sent you an invitation to the wrong party. I hope you can forgive me. Now that my family’s complete again … I forgive you. That’s what matters, isn’t it? Catch you later, lover._

 

~~~*~~~

The blood trail is a plant, they realize, too late of course, but it's nice to know how you were beaten. Angelus is a good teacher that way.

Willow is lying across the backseat of the Desoto, her head in Drusilla’s lap. Angelus and Spike are standing around outside, supervising the minions as they load up the U-haul with the last piece of furniture and another old trunk from the mansion. Angelus doesn’t want everything, but some things have been in the family for centuries and he has no plans to leave them for the council’s inspection. 

“Pretty neat trick you pulled on the slayer.” Spike is behind smoking and watching Angelus as the older vampire takes a last look at their lair. It isn’t particularly homey, but he has made some good memories here, found his family, so it will always have a place in his black heart.

“Yeah,” he replies, grinning like a little boy. “It was, huh?” He turns around and shoves a hand in his pocket, like he’s cold. The minions close the door to the moving truck. “And now just one more.”

Spike frowns, blowing smoke out into the cold night air. “What’s that then?”

He claps his boy on the back and pulls him toward that black monstrosity of a car. 

“The disappearing act.”

 

~~~*~~~

 

End


End file.
